PS 635 
.Z9 
C4893 
Copy 1 



*93 



OBED OWLER 



AND 



Ihe Prize Writers 



A HUMOROUS DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, 



WRITTEN BY MARY H. GRAY CLARKE 

(NINA GRAY CLARKE). 



AUTHOR OF 



! "EFFIE, FAIRY QUEEN OF DOLLS"; "PRINCE 
PUSS IN BOOTS" ; "GOLDEN HAIR AND HER 
KNIGHT OF THE BEANSTALK IN THE 
ENCHANTED FOREST," ETC., ETC. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlve year 1889, by Mary 11. Gray Clarke, In the 
Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. All rights reserved. 

BOSTON; MASS.: 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO., 

Theatrical Booksellers and Publishers, 

23 Winter Street. 

1889. 



OBED OWLER 



AND 



he Prize Writers, 



A HUMOROUS DRAMA IN THREE ACTS. 



w 



WRITTEN BY MARY H. GRAY CLARKE 

{NINA GRA Y CLARKE). 



AUTHOR OF 



EFFIE, FAIRY QUEEN OF DOLLS"; "PRINCE 
PUSS IN BOOTS" ; "GOLDEN HAIR AND HER 
KNIGHT OF THE BEANSTALK IN THE 
ENCHANTED FOREST," ETC., ETC. 



1889 ' 






Entered according to AH of Congress, in the gear 1889, by Mary H. Gray Clarke, inf/ie 
Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. All rights reserved. 



BOSTON, MASS.: 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO., 

Theatrical Booksellers and Publishers, 

23 Winter Street. 

1889. 









DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Ebenezer Scudder— a, backwoods farmer. 

Deborah Scudder — wife of Ebenezer Scudder. 

Mehetable Jane Scudder— daughter of Ebenezer Scudder and step- 
daughter of his wife. 

ObedOwler— a young man about twenty years of age, employed in Mr. 
Scudder's Family. 

Sam Smasher— a, neighbor and also lover of Mehetable. 

Mr. Cheatham— a, school-teacher. 

Two Magistrates. 

A few persons, for voices to be heard from the outside. 



HARVARD PRINTING CO., 544 MAIN ST., CAMBRIDGEPORT. 



TMP92-008848 



OBED OWLER AND THE PRIZE WRITERS. 



ACT I. SCENE 1. 

Common wooden chairs; a table that readily falls apart, over which 
is spread a cloth; a stove without a fire. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder in 
the plain neat dress of the backwood's farmer and wife of middle asce. 

Mrs. Scudder (looking through the window'). Ebenezer 
Scudder, just look here and see if you can make out 
what team that is coming up the road. Ain't that Mehit- 
able Jane ? And that feller drivin' is Sam Smasher sure as I'm 
livin'. What have they in the gig ? Loaded down with her 
toggery, no doubt. I do wish she would be more sensible and 
not spend all her money for gewgaws. Only see the streamers 
and the flourishings ! Gay as a peacock ! 

Mr. Scud, (good-naturedly'). Come, come, Deborah, don't 
be too hard on Hitty. She'll be all right after a while. 'Tis 
a high-flyin' age with her, and girls most allays think lots of 
dress. I dare say you did at her age. What a pretty pink 
gown you wore that day I first saw you in meetin', and how 
handsome you looked ; but you've made me as good a wife as 
any man could wish ; so don't worry 'bout Hitty. Here 
they are. ( Opens the door, and Mrs. Scudder stands near 
the door-wag, when an enormous bundle is thrown into her open 
arms from the outside.) 

Mrs. Scud, (to her step-daughter outside). You haven't 
left Mrs. Manton for good, have you, Mehitable Jane ? 

Mehetable (from the outside). Don't call me by that 
name, mother, and I'll tell you all when fairly in the house. 
Please, Sam, take charge of my luggage, and I'll go right in, 
I'm so tired. (Enter Mehetable and Sam Smasher. Mehetable 
seats herself in the easiest chair. Sam, depositing the various 
packages near her, returns to the gig for more.) 



Mr. Scud, (looking through the open door). Well, I 
declare for it ! If Sam isn't bringing another pile. What 
on airth can they be ? They're solider than all the rest put 
together. 

Mrs. Scud. They be books, and the biggest I ever did 
see. 

Mehet. Yes, they are large. They are my encyclopaedia 
and dictionary. 

Mrs. Scud. Well, well, Hitty ! I allays said you was the 
wust girl for readin' novels and love stories ; but these two beat 
all I ever did see. What did you say their names was ? Which 
is the he roine ? Elsie Cleopatria ! Seems to me I have heared 
or read of her somewhere, but the t'other, Dick — what did you 
call him? He hain't got a very novelly name to match hern 
seems to me. (Enter Sam Smasher with the big books, and let- 
ting them fall heavily on the table, it breaks with a crash upon the 
fioor. Mrs. Scudder clenches the broken fragments of the table. 
Mr. Scudder, Sam Smasher, and Mehetable rush to rescue the 
volumes, holding them with extended arms, apparently petrified 
in the middle of the floor, and in great perplexity where to place 
their literary guests. Mrs. Scudder thinks of the stove and 
taking up the cloth the broken table no longer requires, spreads 
it over the stove.) 

Mrs. Scud. There, Sam, put them on this empty stove. 
(Standing a short distance from the enthroned volume, arms 
akimbo, eying the books.) I don't believe you begin to have 
a notion, Mehitabel Jane, how many days and weeks you'll have 
to read afore you'll get to the end of them books, to say nothin' 
of the cryin's you'll have over that Elsie Cleopatria afore she 
can get through troubles enough to fill all the leaves. How 
many times that Richard of hern will have to a'most kill 
himself tryin' to please her, or to save her from robbers and 
catamounts and all that sort of thing. It'll make you awful 
nervous to wait so long to find how they come out at last. If 
I's you I'd read the last first, and if it didn't come out all right, 
I'd never read 'em, nor spile my eyes for 'em. That I wouldn't. 
That's my advice. Take it or not, as you like ; but, Hitty, you 



don't say you've left Mrs. Manton for good ? Afore you tell me 
about the books tell me that. 

Sam Smasher. Well, I must be going, for work will be 
waiting me at home, so good-night all. (Nearing the door, says 
in a low voice) Too bad, too bad. 

Mrs. Scud, (anxiously*). What's the matter, Sam? Have 
you got hurt some way ? 

Sam Smasher. Oh, nothing, pinched my finger a little, 
that's all. (Exit Sam Smasher.) 

Mehet. (with arching brows and drooping lids). Respected 
advanced maternal parient, theoretically I have absconded from 
her patronosity, but practitionally I am still abiding in the 
ubiquitarinosity of her influential orbit. 

Mrs. Scud. Hey? I don't catch quite all you say, in fact, 
nothin' but abidin' influenzy. You don't mean to say that you are 
raised to nuss in the family, and that the influenzy is goin' to 
'bide always with 'em, do you Hitty ? If it is, I must say you 
ought to get high wages ; for you won't be able to stand it a 
month. The thought just strikes me it is some disease of the 
throat or lungs, and it must be you've caught it worst kind, for 
I can't understand hardly a word you say. 

Mehet. Devoted demi-parient, I diagnosticate that your 
intellectuality is converging into actual vacuity, resulting from 
the perspicuity superinduced by unadulterated ignorosity. 

Mrs. Scud, (looking dismayed). What has come over you, 
Mehitabel Jane ? One thing is certain. The 'bidin influenzy 
hain't tied your tongue ; but I do believe you're losin' your 
senses, and that your brains is all flyin' out, your mouth in the 
shape of such outlandish words as would shame a crazy Dutch- 
man, or North American Indian man. 

Mehet. Dear demi-mother, the lucidity of your remark- 
ations precludes the incongruity of a miscomprehension of their 
interpretation. 

Mrs. Scud, (despairingly). Wuss and wuss. I don't 
know the meanin' of but one word in this last, and that, is 
'terpretation, which is somethin' 'bout the Scriptures, that 
ministers know all 'bout ; but I don't. I can't see how you 



can either. Poor child, ain't you never goin' to speak English 
again ? Sure's I live I believe you're betwitched, same as folks 
used to be when 'twas the fashion to burn and hang 'em. What 
is to be done ? I shall have to explain to Ebenezer, and have 
somethin' done for you right off. 

Mehet. Dear demi-mother, I see that subsequenchically 
from this date, I shall be obliged colloquially to dispense with 
my erudition, and address my demi-maternal parient in my an- 
teriorly abandoned phraseology. 

Mrs. Scud. Just so, Hitty, jus' so : I guess you're right, if 
that means you're goin' to squench your college and dispensary 
talk, and take up that of your aunties and material parients. 

Mehet. "What I mean, is this. I am convinced that I must 
drop my education when I speak to my parients, and come down- 
to plain, vulgar English. Fact is, I'm going to write for a prize. 
I've got my books, and have been studying night and day for 
weeks, and I guess I've got 'em thorough, seeing I've proved 
that ignorant folk don't know a word I say. 

Mrs. Scud. Well, I declare, if that don't beat all ! I 
begin to think you hain't got a particle of influenzy 'bout you, 
Hitty, and if you'll start out on plain, sensible English, I'm sure 
I can cure you right off, if there's any virtue in tongue salve. 
You've been savin' them dizzy long words, and studyin' 'em so 
continually that your brain has got a mite twisted, that's all. If 
you keep on so very much longer I know 'twill bring on sof t'nin' 
of the brain. It 'most allays does. Now you give it up just as 
quick as you can get all the longest words together in shape, 
and send them along to the prize man. He'll fix them all right 
for you. Then you can trust to luck for gettin' the prize. How 
much is it to be ? 

Mehet. One hundred and fifty dollars, mother. 

Mrs. Scud, (raising her hands in surprise). One hundred and 
fifty dollars ! You don't say ! Well that is worth workin' for. 
What is your plan for gettin' it, Hitty ? 

Mehet. Well, you see Miss Grace is writing for this prize, 
and one day I thought to myself, why shouldn't Hetty Scudder 
try her luck ? The money would do her as much good as it would 



anybody ; so I bought a dictionary to learn the big words, and an 
encyclopaedia for the ideas and improved every moment I could 
get to study 'em. I think you have proved to me that I am fitted 
to begin my story, for I've learned so many words that you can't 
make out what I say. 

Mrs. Scud. That's so, Hitty ; but I's thinkin' what sort of use 
it is to write such a book as nobody knows what the words mean, 
but the ministers, and the doctors, and lawyers, who don't read 
many love stories, and their wives and daughters ain't plenty 
enough in these parts to buy many books. That, however, is the 
paper-man's look-out, and if he wants such I suppose you better 
keep on till you get the prize or not, and then give up the dic- 
tion'ries and cleopatrias, and speak Yankee English for the rest of 
your life, same as all your respectable relatives. 

Mehet. Yes, I've come to my rural home, to climb the 
rugged rocks, hang on the towering trees, jump into the raging 
cataracts, and get up a lovely heroine, who must be continually 
escaping torturing horrors, and experiencing break-neck adven- 
tures, that will chill the blood of the enchanted reader, until 
Mittie Jennie Scuddereau will become a famous novelist. 

Mrs. Scud. Seems to me you are slipping into the novelly 
words again. The name may be splendid enough, but it 
wouldn't be you, Mehitabel Jane Scudder, that would become 
famous. The Mitty and Jinny I can make out, but where on 
airth did you get the row ? That puzzles me. I can't help think- 
ing it will be rather dangerous for you to be climbing the steep 
rocks in wimmin's does, and I think you better get Sam Smasher 
to do that for you, likewise the hanging on trees, and jumpin' 
into water and such like doin's, for he is tough enough not to mind 
it a bit ; though I don't see the necessity of anybody's doin' so. 

Mehet. You needn't worry about that. I can get my ideas 
partly from the encyclopaedia and the words from the dictionary, 
and will not find it so very hard as you fear. 

Mrs. Scud. Well, Hitty, you must be tired and ought to go 
right to bed. I believe Ebenezer is half asleep in his chair, and I 
begin to feel like restin' my head for awhile too. (Exeunt, 
Curtain falls. .) 



ACT I. SCENE 2. 

MIDNIGHT. Enter Mrs. Scudder on tiptoe, holding a lighted 
candle in one hand and a box of letter-paper and a pencil in the 
other. 

Mrs. Scud. Well, I do declare I can't help feelin' sort o' 
curis up here, twelve o'clock at night to write a story. Who 
would ever think of my doin' such a thing ? Well, I've set out to 
try it, and Deborah Scudder, when she's made up her mind, don't 
give up at the first step. (Seats herself at the table, places the 
paper before her and touches the paper luith her pen but writes 
nothing.) Wouldn't Ebenezer laugh, though, to see me now ? I 
wouldn't let him know it for nothin' in the world, short of the 
prize money. ( Composes herself to write again, but cannot make 
any progress.} What if he should come in now ? But no danger 
of that, for I left him snoring. Well, I've got set down for it I 
must write somethin' though I do feel like a Newfoundland dog 
tryin' to play the pianny ! 'Tis awful awk'ard for me to write 
anyway, but ther's nothin' like tryin' ('cept succeedin') ; so I 
won't put off for tomorrow what can be done tonight. (Arran- 
ges her paper again.} Let me see ! I'm sure I couldn't do much 
with a reg'lar story. No, I won't try that. I will strike for 
po'try. That will be easier, I guess, for me. I think if I could 
only get started I might do well enough ; but I don't know exactly 
how to begin. (Brightens up, suddenly raising her hands.*) 
Yes, I have it, 1 knowed I should think of somethin'. Hitty 
said the paper-man only wanted the same big words as is in the 
diction'ry, and I can begin each of my lines with a big letter 
and get 'em all in from A to &, and the little ones will about 
all fall in between, I guess, in the words. As for the idees, I 
don't want no cleopatria for them. I've got the story all in my 
own head ; for it is a'most all true. Now comes the best part of 
my plan. I'll get the lawyer's wife to fix it all right, and gram- 
mar it up a little; for when I was young and went to school, 
grammar wasn't invented ; leastwise it hadn't got into our school. 
Oh dear ! it is queer that I can't never think without my tongue 



9 



goin' too";" so I suppose 'twill have to while I write. I'll have 
the subject j"'Lopin' " Just the thing for novelly girls of 
nowadays. (Repeats each word aloud while writing.') 

'lopin'. 

Afore I write my po'try here 
'Bout me and Ebenezer, 
Another tale I'll tell to you, 
That you may read at leisure. 

Beriah was his Christian name, 

No Christian, though, his t'other, Brown; 

But he set up a smashing shop 

When first he came to town. 

Celindy, richest girl in town, 
Soon bought out half his store. 
'Cos he came home with me one day, 
She never bought no more. 

Dear me ! that she should jealous be, 
To me seemed sort o' queer, 
When for that spindle legged Brown 
One cent I didn't care. 

Ebenezer too came home; 
That made things kind o' bad. 
Em' Whitley told him all she heard, 
Which made him awful mad. 

Father never liked Brown, too, 
And turned him out of door, 
For which at heart I felt right glad, 
Though how Beriah swore ! 

Girls, now what I would say just here, 
Pray don't you ne'er forget; 
The man who steals his wife from home, 
Will show he's worthless yet. 

How ever that Beriah Brown 
Should dare that night to come, 
Entreatin' me to 'lope with him 
Would make a lawyer dumb. 



10 



I couldn't speak to him, of course ; 
But then, what could I do ? 
Why, take a tub of water cold 
And souse him through and through, 
And I did. 

Joe Jenkins chanced to see the sport 
And spread the news 'round town ; 
Sim Larkins said I served him right, 
That good-for-nothin' Brown." 

Knew I full well Beriah Brown, 
Ten thousand climes to one 
Was (if not orphan knave) at least, 
Some father's worthless son. 



I must stop right here, in my po'try ; for it's gettin'Jate, and 
I can't bother to find diction'ry words, let alone thejspellin'^and 
grammar. The rest of the words I must try and lump 
together. Let me see. L, M, f_N, O, P, Q, must get into this 
next verse. 

Lemiry, Mary, Nabby, Oh, 
Phcebe and Queenie, too, 
Kebecca, Ruth, Susanna, Tot, 
I give advice to you. 

Now the last I must try to get in V, W, X, Y, Z, & 

Venture with 'lopers, never, no. 
Warnin' from wisdom heed ; 
X — cept where truth lights up life's road, 
Y — Zly none can proceed. 

There ! I've got in all the big letters in the whole diction'ry, 
to say nothin' of the little ones, and if anybody can do better 
than that he ought to get the prize, say I. I can't help thinkin' 
they are excellent verses for Hitty to read ; for she does seem 
some like them girls as go hangin' out of windows to run away 
with a " 'loper." Well, I guess I'll roll up my writin' and try to 
get some rest 'fore mornin'. (Looking towards the door.y 
What's that ? I thought I heard a step. 

Mr. Scud, (looking very much surprised'). Why, Debby,. 



11 



is this you? I thought I just left you sound asleep. What can 
you be here for ? 

Mrs. Scud, (composedly'). Well, you see I wasn't asleep. 
What could I be here for, Ebenezer, but to pick out words for you 
to work up a story ? Nobody could tell a downright hair-breadth 
escapin' story better than you could. All the words is here in 
this diction'ry if you can only get 'em in order. 

Mr. Scud. That's it, Debby. That's just what I was thinkin'. 
Queer we should have been hold the same rope without knowin' 
of it. Ever since I heard that chit of a child talkin' 'bout writin' 
for a prize I've thought of the yarns I have spun, and could 
spin again, that would blow her novelly stories to the four winds. 

Mrs. Scud. Yes, Ebenezer, that's plain enough. The only 
difficulty that I can see is the grammary words. 

Mr. Scud. Yes, Debby, when it comes to writin' the 
grammary words 'tis rather puzzlin', and then the right letters 
to spell the words is a leetle of a bother, too, Debby. I could 
spin the yarn with my tongue easy as nothin'. 

Mrs. Scud. Since we've been talkin', a bright idee has 
struck me. You know, Ebenezer, you've been wantin' to buy 
the four-acre lot. Now seems to me there's a chance to get a 
good hundred dollars to buy it. 

Mr. Scud. That's so, Debby ; but the grammary words, 
how are we to get over them ? 

Mrs. Scud. That's just it. Now my idee is this. You 
know the new school-master and how slick he speaks in the 
meetin's in the school-house ? 

Mr. Scud, (all attention). Yes. 

Mrs. Scud. Well, I guess he knows the diction'ry by heart 
Any way, you can tell the stories in your own words, and he'll 
put in the grammary ones where they belong. He knows 'em, 
I'm sure, for I've learned some from him already : conglom- 
eration, propergandering, and, — and, well, I can't think now, 
but lots more. He boards 'round you know, and pretty soon 
'twill be our turn to take him a couple of weeks. Now get your 
story all 'ranged by the time he comes, and offer him a five- 
dollar piece, if the story wins, and you're all right. 



12 



Mr. Scud. That does look reasonable, Debby. 

Mrs. Scud. Course it does. You've travelled all over the 
world with wild beasts and savage men, and could tell harro'in' 
stories 'bout 'em, that would take wonderful. I know you 
could. 

Mr. Scud, (looking toward the door). Didn't you hear 
somebody move, Debby? I thought two or three times that I 
did. 

Mrs. Scud. Yes, I dare say 'tis Obed stretched on your 
chest in the passage-way. (Taking the candle, and thrusting her 
head through the open door.*) Yes 'tis Obed. Obed Owler, 
why don't you go to bed like other folk, in a Christian manner ? 
You're rightly named, for I could never find you asleep. Eyes 
wide open, ears and mouth the same ; yet never seein' nor 
hearin'. If you won't go to bed, just take your blanket into 
the kitchen here, and spread it if you like. I'll leave the 
candle for you ; only be sure and blow it out. 

Mr. Scud. Do you suppose, Debby, he has heard anything 
we have said? 

Mrs. Scud. No. What an idee ! He's too stupid to 
understand what prize writin' is. 

Mr. Scud. Lucky for us he is ; for I wouldn't have it get 
out for nothin'. 

Mrs. Scud. Nor I ; but there's no danger, I'm sure of that. 
(Exit Mr. and Mrs. Scudder.) 

Obed (entering with his blanket. Standing in the middle of the 
room, stretches himself as tall as possible). Stupid is he ? 
" Can't hear nothin' ? Can't see nothin' ? " Can't he ? Well, 
maybe not. Pretty good thing, though, to have eyes like an 
owl's, to see what he wants to see. Long ears, too, are just 
right to catch what he wants to hear. And a tongue is handy 
when 'tis time to tell what he sees and hears. 

I've got an idea behind all this writin' and talkin' sideways 
and gettin' things confused. 'Tis this : There's to be a prize- 
fight somewhere. That's the main fact. All the writin' they 
make so much fuss about, and the talkin' is no account to me. 
They're awful sly writin' 'bout it. I s'pose 'tis necessary to 



13 



write the whole story, and who beats, so's they can read it 
'mong themselves, arter it's all over. Let me see now. The 
next thing to find out is, who's to do the fightin' ? Can't be 
Mr. Scudder agin the school-marster ? No, p'r'aps 'tis ; but tain't 
likely. Mrs. Scudder 'ginst Mitable ? No, course not. Nor 
Mrs. Scudder 'ginst the school-marster. No, no ; that can't be 
of course. Now who are the fighters ? That's the question. 
Let's see, let's see ! Now, Obed, be sharp. Yes, yes, I begin to 
see. (His countenance showing great delight at some new light, 
he awkwardly moves his arms up and down somewhat like an owl 
flapping its wings. Suddenly bending one knee, and slapping it 
with satisfaction, he exclaims) I've got it now, and no mistake, 
I knowed I should. 'Tis Sam Smasher, for sure, and t'other is 
Cheatem the school-marster. All I've got to say is Cheatem '11 
get awful smashed, he ! he ! he ! I'll bet five dollars on Smasher. 
(Suddenly looks serious.) But, stop. I don't know 'bout that. 
Let me see. If I let the perlice know 'bout it I'll get five or 
ten dollars, maybe fifteen. Let's see ! That's better'n to pay 
out five for Sam. I'll do this. How shall I bring it about, 
though ? Let me see. Be sharp, Obed, be sharp ! Yes, I have 
it. I've got to go with a load of wood to town day arter 
tomorrow, and I'll just go to the magistrate, and tell him there's 
to be a — what do you call it ? Not prize-fight, 'xactly. There's a 
genteeler name. Let's see, somethin' like do — do — do — ill. 
Yes, that's it ; for I b'lieve it's 'bout some young lady, and they 
allays call them doills. And the young lady is Hitable for 
sartin. I won't tell that part, though. On the whole, I guess 
I'll say 'tis a prize-fight. As I's sayin', I'll go 'form the 
magistrate. First, though, I'll buy a couple of rockets ; then 
I'll go to the magistrate, and tell him there's to be a prize-fight 
somewhere within a couple of weeks, and if he'll be on the 
lookout I'll send up a couple of rockets, the evenin' it is comin' 
off. Let's see agin. I'll let some fellers on the way that I can 
trust know that there's to be fun near our place the evenin' that 
I throw up the rockets. I'll tell 'em to come to a sartin spot, 
and I'll lead 'em. Won't that be jolly ? They'll get there in 
time to see the 'restin' of the fighters, and themselves, too, if 



14 



they don't look out. That'll pay 'em for pokin' fun at Obed 
Owler. Good, good. That'll teach 'em that owl's eyes and 
ears wasn't made for nothin', if they do grow on Obed Owler's 
head. 

Now I've got all 'ranged, guess I'll take my blanket and leave. 
Mrs. Scudder thinks I'm an owl and never sleep nights. When 
there's nothin' to listen to, noi game to catch, a good bed is as 
soft for Obed Owler as for anybody else and a good sleep 
too, he ! he ! he ! (Exit Obed Owler. Curtain falls.) 



ACT II. SCENE 1. 

MORNING. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder seated at table. 

Mrs. Scud. How much more have you got to write to fin- 
ish your story, Ebenezer ? 

Mr. Scud. Only two or three pages, I should say. 

Mrs. Scud, (after a pause). I have been thinking a deal 
since Mr. Cheatem has been writin' for you, and I've come to 
conclude that he ain't to be trusted. Now what is to prevent 
him after he has got the story all writ, from puttin' his name to 
the end of it and takin' the prize himself ? 

Mr. Scud. Nothin', Debby, nothin', and do you know I 
b'lieve he means to do it ? I've watched him, and he wants to be 
the one to take it to the office; but 'twixt you and me he's never 
to lay hands on them papers again. My mind's made up on that. 
Obed is harnessin', for I'm goin' to town, and I'll take the papers 
to Mrs. Holbrook, the doctor's wife and she'll copy it and finish 
it as I say. I'll sign my own name to it and take it to the office 
myself. Won't Cheatem splutter, though, when he comes to fin- 
ish it and finds we have outwitted him, hey, Debby? I'm not 
used to prize writin' nor prize-fightin', but I've got my eyes open 
to all sorts of men. If he should come while I'm gone you 
needn't tell him that I have taken the papers, but let him know 
that we don't want his help any more. 

(Enter Obed; slips into the corner of the room unnoticed. ~) 



15 



Obed (aside). I heard him say prize-fightin' and how he's goin' 
to take the papers. I'm all right, he ! he ! he ! (In a louder 
voice.') The team is all ready, Mr. Scudder. (Mrs. Scudder 
goes for the papers, and soon returns with them tied in a neat 
package which Mr. Scudder puts in his pocket, with a knowing 
turn of the head toward Mrs. Scudder.) 

Mr. Scud. Won't there be music when he comes, 
Debby, hey ? 

Mrs. Scud. Well, he can't help himself. (Exit Mr. Scudder 
and Obed. Mrs. Scudder from the window watches their depar- 
ture, talking to herself.) 

Mrs. Scud. That's a right out-and-out good story, and not 
many words that you have got to hunt up in the dic- 
tion'ry to find out what they mean, like Hitty's. I know Ebene- 
zer thinks it will win, and what he reelly thinks I've noticed 
gen'ally is so. If I do say it, he has got a good head on his 
shoulders, and the best kind of a heart, too, and in the right 
place for that matter. I suppose I have seen the time that I 
wished he might be a leetle more dandified ; but such foolish 
days are all over. It's a notion I s'pose of most girls 'fore they 
get wisdom. There's Hitty, now, I make no doubt, wishes that 
Sam had a leetle genteelness like the school-marster's while she well 
knows that one shake of his great honest fist is worth mor'n all 
the bowin' and scrapin' and flourishin' and the grammary words 
in the bargain ; but the team has gone quite out o' sight while 
I've been musin' here, and I've got lots to do this mornin'. 
(Suddenly starts back as she is about to shut the door.) Oh ! is 
that you Mr. Cheatem? Walk in. (Enter Mr. Cheatham.) 
Wasn't lookin' for you this mornin'. Thought you was in 
school. Won't you take a seat ? 

Mr. Cheatham. Thank you, madam. I was impressed 
this beautiful morning that my youthful charges were sadly in 
need of recreation, and they are now roaming the woods and 
meadows in search of early autumn flowers and fruits. I have 
availed myself of this opportunity to finish the manuscript. 

Mrs. Scud. How unfortunate for you, Mr. Cheatem. Mr. 
Scudder has gone to town, and won't be home until noon likely. 



16 



Mr. Cheatham. That is a little unfortunate, yet it doesn't 
so much matter after all. You will allow me to take the papers. 
I will copy them at my room where I am stopping this week, 
and drop around tomorrow evening and get the rest of the story 
from Mr. Scudder. I can then take it to the post next day. 

Mrs. Scud. To tell you the truth, Mr. Cheatem, we've 
come to conclude, Ebenezer and I, that we won't trouble you to 
write any more. 

Mr. Cheatham (astonished). I not write any more? What 
can you mean, Mrs. Scudder ? It is no trouble, but a pleasure, I 
assure you, madam. 

Mrs. Scud. Well ! If that's so, we don't want to please 
you to write any more. 

Mr. Cheatham. Has Mr. Scudder lost his senses, madam ? 
I know you are a woman of too much judgment to throw rashly 
away an opportunity that will bring you so large a sum. I am 
sure you will get the prize, if you will allow me to finish it 
properly. 

Mrs. Scud. Very well said, Mr. Cheatem. I know, 
spite of your flattery words about my judgment being better 
than Ebenezer's, that there ain't no truth in 'em. {Looking indig- 
nant.') Why, I tell you now, Ebenezer has got more good sense 
than you or I, or both of us and Hitty in the bargain. He don't 
want you to have any more to do with the papers, except to get 
the five dollars he promised if the story wins nor more do I. 

Mr. Cheatham (biting his lips with vexation). Why, woman, 
you must be beside yourself ! 

Mrs. Scud. I guess we can manage it, Mr. Cheatem. You 
know Hitty is pretty glib with the biggest grammary words, 
and we've come to conclude what the paper-man wants. 

Mr. Cheatham. I'm sorry for your throwing away such a 
chance. You cannot surely object however to my, finishing the 
manuscript, and then after you have written another, compare 
the two and make your choice between them ? 

Mrs. Scud. Yes, I do object, Mr, Cheatem, for Mr. Scudder 
is not willin' for you to take them. (Turns as if to leave the 
room.) 



17 

Mr. Cheatham. Well, if that's the case I suppose I may as 
well go. I bid you good morning, Mrs. Scudder. (Aside.) I saw 
Mehetable out by the brook seated on a mossy rock writing. I'll 
go and talk with her awhile and persuade her to get the papers 
for me. At all events I must get those papers. (Exit.) 

Mrs. Scudder. Well, for my part I'm glad the papers are 
out of the house, and more'n that Cheatem's gone too. I never 
could get it out o' my head that he was one of the 'lopin' kind, 
even if he did know diction'ry words. He did a'most beat 
Hitty on them, though, and when they got to talkin' they 
might have all been 'lopin' words, for all I could say to the 
contra'y . ( Curtain falls.) 



ACT n. SCENE 2. 

i^IGHT. Candle on the table burning. Clock strikes eleven. Obed 
Owler at the window, which is slightly raised, listening and watching 
for something outside. 

Obed. Jolly! There's somethin' up. I see a man jump 
over the stone wall, and now he's creepin' slyly towards the 
house. 'Tis Cbeatem, I'll bet. Now I'll just dodge out and 
send up the rockets, and be back in a jiffy. (Exit for a few 
minutes; returns, taking his seat at the window.) Guy! What's 
that? I heard a winder raised. Yes, 'tis Metable, and that 
sneak of a Cheatem is tryin' to get her to 'lope long o' him, 
cos he don't want to fight Sam Smasher. (Listening again.) 
She tells him she can't find the papers. Good ! Guess she 
can't. Mr. Scudder's looked out for that. (Listening.) Says 
tain't treatin' father, mother, and Sam right to 'lope, and 
(listening) she means to marry Sam if he asks her again. 
That's where she knows somethin'. But laws ! laws ! What's 
that? 'Tis a big bear sure's I've got eyes, come out o' the 
woods, and he's huggin' the school-ma rster, and I'll bet he'll 
kill him in less'n five minits. Gorry ! Hear him holler. He's 
carryin' him off to the woods. (Loud voice crying outside for 
help. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Scudder and Mehetable.) 



18 



Mrs. Scud. What is it, Obed? Is the house on fire? Is 
anybody murdered or robbed? You are wide awake, and 
ought to know somethin' 'bout it. What's them horrid yells 
for help ? (Looking out from the window.} See, Ebenezer, 
the people are coming with lanterns from all directions. 
Speak, Obed ! What does it mean ? 

Obed. Why! A monstrous bear has carried off the school- 
marster, and the perlice has come to 'rest Sam and Cheatem, 
and — and, lots more. I can't tell it all now. ( Opens the 
door excitedly .} I must be out and see the fun. (Exit Obed. 
Mehetable looks out the open door and falls fainting into a chair.} 

Mrs. Scud. Oh, dear, oh dear. What shall we do ? Here 
are the officers at the door. Ebenezer Scudder, what is to be done ? 

Mr. Scud, (composedly}. Why, see what they want, 
Debby. That's the first thing to do. What's wantin', gen- 
tlemen ? 

Magistrate No 1 . We've come to see who and where are 
the contestants. (Mr. Scudder opens his mouth to answer. 
Mrs. Scudder comes to his aid.} 

Mrs. Scud. He can't tell you, honored sirs ; but Hitable can. 
(Shaking the partly aroused girl.} Mehitable Jane Scudder, 
hurry out of that faintin' fit quick as you can, please, and look 
in your diction'ry, and see what corn-testers means. The 
officers want to know right away. 

Magistrate. Don't be alarmed, ladies. You don't seem to 
understand exactly. We only want to know who and where 
the prize-fighters are. We are sure you know something about 
it here ? 

Mr. Scud. Mrs. Scudder and Mehetable. Prize-fighters ! 

Mrs. Scud, (turning pale}. We are the ones, Mr. Officers. 
We all own up ; but 'twas prize writin', 'stead of fightin', and 
sure's I'm a livin' woman we didn't know that 'twas cont'ry to 
law. We'll take 'em back, and tare 'em to pieces, and burn 
'em, if you'll do no more about it. 

Magistrate No. 1. Why, woman ! What are you raving 
about ? We don't want anybody burnt. Only tell us where to 
find 'em. 



19 



Mr. Scud, (stepping forward}. I see you are all in a muss 
here. Let me explain. I can't see exactly why 'tis, but the 
officers think there's a prize-light, somewhere about here, and 
they've come to arrest the parties ; but you see, Mr. Officers, 
there's some difference 'twixt prize-fightin' and prize writin', 
and we belong to the last named ; so you'll have to look further 
for your game this time, I reckon. 

Obed Owler (from outside, approaching}. We've cotched 
the bear. 'Tis Sam Smasher. (Enter Obed. Looks surprised, 
arid abashed at seeing the officers. Recovers himself immediately.') 
Oh ! Mr. Officers, I didn't know you was here. Guess you 
didn't see the bear, did you? 

Magistrate No. 1. (looking severe). We've seen no bear ; 
but we begin to see you are all implicated in this affair, and are 
trying to keep us until the fight is over. 

Mrs. Scud. Oh, Mr. Officers, don't say that ! True as I'm — 

Mr. Scud. Debby, Debby ! Don't you worry now. I'm 
just ready to laugh myself to death. You and Hitty will feel 
like doin' the same tomorrow. Let Obed tell. 'Tis the first 
time in his life that he's opened his mouth to say anything. 
He's told the officers somethin'. Now let him tell the rest of his 
story. Come, go on, Obed. Hoot out your story. 

Obed. Well, you see I knowed 'twas Sam Smasher soon as 
he grabbed Cheatem. Didn't he carry him easy, though ? 
Didn't he give him a good huggin' ? Served him right ; 
sneakin' round and try in' to 'suade Hitable to 'lope long o' him. 
Guess he won't bother us no more. Sim Hodge's tame bear 
died, you know, t'other day, and Sam got the skin, and just as 
Hitable told Cheatem she wouldn't go, up jumped Sam in the 
bear's skin, and 'loped with Cheatem, instead. Wa'n't that a 
good one ? He ! he ! he ! 

Mrs. Scud. There, Ebenezer! That's what I allays said. 
Cheatem was nothin' but a 'loper, and so he wasn't, and my 
po'try, — well, never mind ; that's all. (Curtain falls.) 



20 



ACT III. SCENE 1. 

EVENING. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder and Mehetabel sitting at table 
variously employed ; Obedin the corner. 

Mrs. Scud. What's that, Ebenezer? Don't you hear a horse's 
hoofs ? 

Me. Scud. Yes I do, Debby. Sounds like Sam ; he's coming 
on the canter. (All arise from the table. Mr. Scudder opens 
the door. Enter Sam Smasher.') What's the news, Sam? 
Anything the matter at your house ? 

Sam Smasher. No, sir ; guess again. 

Mrs. Scud. Good news, I'm sure, by your looks. 

Sam Smasher Yes, 'tis good news'; for Mr. Scudder has won 
the prize. Read it for yourself, Mr. Scudder. 

Mr. Scud, (reads aloud). The first prize, one hundred and 
fifty dollars, is awarded to Ebenezer Scudder for the " Best Story 
of Adventures." 

Mrs. Scud. That's too good to believe, Ebenezer ; though I 
do believe every word of it ; for it's just what I told you in 
the first place, that you'd get the prize. Now you will buy 
the lot. 

Mr. Scud. Yes, Debby, and you shall have a nice gig, such 
as you've been wantin', just for your havin' said so ; for if you 
hadn't a said so, I never should a spun that yarn for a paper- 
man. 

Mrs. Scud. But, Hitty, don't the paper say nothin' 'bout 
Hitty's story ? 

Mehet. No, mother ; for I never sent it. I came to know 
that I was not able to write anything that stood any chance of 
winning. My experience since I undertook writing it has been 
such that I have profited much more than I should to have 
gained the prize. 

Mrs. Scud. Let me see the paper, Ebenezer. Isn't there any- 
thing 'bout anybody else winnin' ? (Takes the paper Mr. Scud- 
der hands her. 



21 



Mr. Scud. Anybody 'd think that you had been writin' for 
the prize too, Debby, judging from your looks. 

Mrs. Scud. Me ? Ha ! that would be funny, and no honest 
school-marster to help me out either. 

Sam Smasher. Dogs take it now ! I almost forgot. Miss 
Lawson sent ten dollars for some poetry she said for Mrs. Scud- 
der. (Hands ten dollars to Mrs. Scud.) 

Mr. Scud Then you did write after all, Debby. Now you'll 
own up, you sly-boots ! 

Mrs. Scud. Well, Ebenezer, I wasn't quite sure I'd get any- 
thing for it. I wonder why they didn't put it in the paper, or 
say somethin' 'bout it ; but I s'pose Miss Lawson knows how to 
explain that. She's a liter'y woman and I'll ask her some- 
time. 

Mr. Scud, (with a knowing look). Yes, Debby, I reckon 
she does know a little more about it than anybody else. 

Mrs. Scud, (with some spirit). Why ! what do you mean, 
Ebenezer Scudder? 

Mr. Scud. Nothin', Debby, nothin' ! I was only reflecting a 
little. Come, Hitty, my daughter, can't you nave somethin' 
cheery to say on this occasion ? Sam told me today that you 
thought you could be happy in his new house on the old Smasher 
farm. If that's so, I promise you it won't be mine nor Debby 's 
fault if you don't have a merry wedding, and plenty to carry 
into the house too. One thing I'll add. If ever I have a little 
Smasher grand-child, I hope she'll be as pretty and good as you 
are, and that you will teach her to repeat by heart the verses of 
her grandma Deborah Scudder, about " 'Lopin," causing her to 
make choice of as good a husband as you have, or will have 
in Sam Smasher. (G-rasps the hand of Sam.) Mr. Smasher, 
here's my right hand of f athership on that. ( Takes the hand of 
Mehetabel.) Take her, Sam. She's been a little high flyin' same 
as Debby was, and now she's got all over that, same as Debby 
did, and will make you a first-rate wife, same as my Debby 
has me. 

Obed. (aside). By jolly ! there hasn't been no fightin', but 
this's pretty near as good. The perlice won't pay me nothin' 



22 



I'm sartin ; but I ain't asleep. I'm Obed Owler, and I'll just 
get Sam to pay me for informal". He can't say no, cos I'll tell 
him I want to buy an all-killin' suit to wear to his weddin', he ! 
he ! he ! Prize-fightin' may be fun ; but I tell you, prize writin' 
pays better by a long shot. That's my 'pinion, and seems to be 
the 'pinion of all in this 'ere house likewise. {Curtain falls. ,) 

THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 102 681 5 4> 



